


You Better, You Better, You Bet

by firefly124, MaskofCognito



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-04-29 19:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14479785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly124/pseuds/firefly124, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskofCognito/pseuds/MaskofCognito
Summary: Dean’s been running his family’s beekeeping business and herbal store for years, including their Sunday spot at the local flea market.  A new vendor just took the spot next to his, and the guy might be hot, but he’s also really freakin’ annoying.  Can they manage to develop a decent working relationship, or will they end up getting themselves thrown out instead?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from The Who’s song by (almost) the same name. This fic owes its existence to [relucant](https://relucant.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, who mentioned a desire to see a fic of these two at a flea market [here](https://relucant.tumblr.com/post/169400349483/i-know-i-say-this-every-time-i-go-to-the-flea). (Roles are, of course, flipped, with relucant’s generous permission.) Thanks to [sternchencas](https://sternchencas.tumblr.com/) for alpha-reading and [profound-boning](http://profound-boning.tumblr.com/) for beta-reading!
> 
> Please check out [markofcognito](https://maskofcognito.tumblr.com/)'s art masterpost [here](https://maskofcognito.tumblr.com/post/174037079345/you-better-you-better-you-bet-by-firefly124-a) which is awesome! He captured the feel of this setting and the guys' tensions so well! Please check it out and give him some love.

It was a beautiful morning, Dean thought as he loaded up the Impala with freshly-jarred honey and several batches of freshly-bagged herbs.  He might be running late as hell, but that was no reason not to enjoy it. Quickly.

"Dude, don't forget the candy!"  Sam came running up to him with his arms full of boxes of homemade honey-herb candies.  "Eileen said there's someone coming in specifically for the lavender ones. Some bridal shower or something."

"She box those up separate?" Dean asked as he took the box.

"Of course."  Sam scowled at him, clearly insulted on his wife's behalf.

Dean grinned.  It was so easy to rile him up.

"Eileen also said if you were a smart-ass, that next time you could deal with the bear yourself."  Sam's scowl morphed into a smirk.

"Hey, Yogi kills our bees and wrecks our hives, that's not good for anyone," Dean said, "besides, what would I do about it?  Yell at him? She's the sharp-shooter in the family."

"Just the messenger."  Sam raised his hands in surrender (but grinning, the jerk) and started walking backwards toward his and Eileen's house.

"Uh huh."  Dean rolled his eyes and turned to find a spot for the boxes of candy in the trunk.  It took a little bit of shifting stuff around, but he managed it. That was one of the many things he loved about this Impala: he could fit just about anything in the trunk.

It took him about twenty minutes to drive to the converted mill that now housed the area’s biggest flea market.  He drove under the tattered sign that read, "Weekly Flea Market: Sundays 9-4" and pulled up to the loading dock. He had to wait for Rufus to unload a couple of crates of baseball cards from the back of his pickup—dude made a killing with the collectibles, that was for sure—then Dean was able to back up to the dock and start unloading.

Start was the key word.  Early as he was, Dean had clearly been beaten to the loading dock by more than just Rufus.  Just past the door, the dock was crammed with giant boxes. Even without reading their labels, Dean could tell that they all belonged to one person.  The new guy.

"Son of a bitch."

Rufus had managed to clear himself a corner, and Dean was just going to have to do the same.  With a groan, he hoisted himself up onto the dock and set about relocating a stack of speakers a couple of feet closer to the rest of the sound equipment.

"Hey, careful with that!" came a familiar, gravelly voice.

Dean just grunted as he set down the last of the boxes before turning to see the new guy standing there wearing the same hole-y jeans and faded AC-DC t-shirt he'd been wearing last week.

"You know, I was careful with it," Dean said, "because unlike  _ some _ people, I have consideration for the other vendors here.  What are you doing taking up the whole dock like this?"

"I tried to get here early enough that I'd have it all out of the way before the rest of you got here."  The guy ran his fingers through his hair, which didn't do it any favors as it was already standing pretty much on end.

Dean looked at his watch.  "You call eight-thirty early?"

The guy threw his hands in the air.  "Look, I can stand here arguing with you, or I can drag this crap over to my booth.  So… "

Dean waved him off and jumped back down to unload his trunk.  It was a stretch loading things from the car to the dock, considering it was meant for trucks, but he was tall enough to manage it once he got himself into the trunk.  Sam could do it from ground level, probably, but he rarely worked the flea market since the twins had been born. Eventually, Dean had crammed all of it into the space he'd created and hurried to pull the Impala away so Ellen could pull up in her pickup.

Dean pulled around back and parked the car at the farthest corner of the lot.  Part of that was good business sense. Potential customers might give up if they couldn't find a good spot.  Part was just self-defense. He didn't want to have to bang any dents out of his baby, after all.

He crossed the lot and to the market’s main entrance, waving to the vendors at the outdoor tables as he passed.  They all swore it was better to set up outside, but Dean was pretty sure they were just making the best of it and would prefer a slot indoors.  Sure, you might catch people on the way in and out, but it had to suck when it rained, never mind when winter hit. 

Once inside, he took the wide steps up to the sales floor two at a time.  He'd lost time getting his stuff unloaded and now he was going to be late opening up.  He darted past the coffee shop, two antique booths, and the main DVD booth on his way to the loading dock, muttering greetings to the other vendors as he passed.

When he reached the dock, almost all of the stereo equipment was gone, so he had a clear path to his stuff.  Dean grabbed the box of candy and slapped the box of herbs on top and hefted them up. He turned to hurry over to his booth and almost slammed right into the stereo guy.

"Shit!  Personal space, dude!" Dean huffed before stepping to the right to avoid him.

The guy stepped left, back into his path. 

With an eye roll, Dean stepped left, only to have the guy move with him.

"Dude, if you wanna dance, you're gonna have to buy me dinner first," Dean said, "just… stay put."

This time he made it around him and back out into the main space.  Fortunately, his booth was in a pretty direct line from the loading dock, so he didn't have to dodge anyone else.  Most of the other vendors were inside their booths at this point getting organized anyway, and it was still a few minutes too early for customers.

He set the two boxes down on the counter next to the old-fashioned cash register and turned to go back for the honey.

"Jesus!" 

He'd almost run into the stereo dude again.  This time, though, the guy was holding Dean's box of honey.  For a second, they just stared at each other. Then stereo dude looked around until he spotted the shelf with bees painted on it.

"Over there?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah.  Thanks."

The guy set the box down in front of the shelf.  His jeans pulled taut as he bent over, and whatever flaws the dude had, Dean had to admit he had a great ass.  He straightened up, and Dean forced his eyes up. Seriously, he had better things to be doing than checking out the new guy.

"Castiel," he said, hand extended.

"Dean."  Dean grabbed his hand and shook.  After a second he let go. "Uh, I'd better finish setting up."

"Right.  Me too. See you, Dean."

As Dean unloaded the boxes and arranged his wares, he wondered what the hell had just happened.

Fortunately, no customers came in until Dean had managed to unpack all of his boxes.  The honey shelf was nicely stocked, the peg board had plenty of little bags of herbs hanging on it, both leftovers and the new ones he'd brought today, and Eileen's boxes of candy were in the glass case on the counter.  Well, except for the pre-ordered ones. They were hidden under the counter.

Shit, he forgot to ask if they'd been prepaid, too.  He fired off a quick text to Eileen to find out. It would be embarrassing to ask someone to pay if they already had, but he didn't much want to just give away her hard work, either.  She didn't answer right away so he shoved his phone back in his pocket for now. 

He pulled out the paper ledger and lined off a new column for today.  Sam was forever threatening to make him go fully digital, but Dean didn't want to deal with a computer here.  Space was at a premium, and something like a tablet could walk off. Plenty of other crap did, to go by their last inventory, but if someone needed candles that badly, it wasn't a big enough deal to worry about, even if it did suck.  And, for whatever reason, that was the only thing they were ever short. Anyway, he'd snap a picture of the page at the end of the day so Sam could put the day's sales into whatever software he used for the books. That was kind of digital, right?

The background hum of customers was starting, still low for now.  Most started off in the coffee shop, completely understandably. Dean wished he'd left himself enough time to run in there.  Now that the "running late" adrenaline was wearing off, he was definitely in need of some caffeine. Hell, he could practically smell the stuff from here.

Deciding he needed to just keep moving, Dean walked over to the wall that held various jars, incense-burners, and other knick-knacks.  They always needed a dusting after a week of sitting here. Not that they sold very often, but they did sort of finish out what Sam called the “kitchen witch vibe” of the place.  Hey, their mom and dad had sold to everyone from hippies to corporate types. If the local pagans wanted to shop here, Dean was good with that.

Only a few of the booths were as built up as the Honeycomb Herbary.  Most just used folding tables that outlined their designated spaces, merchandise often mixing with that of their neighbors along the borderline.  When Dean had taken over the Herbary, though, he'd petitioned to be able to build it up into more of a permanent shop as a couple other long-standing vendors had done.  He was glad he had, because it definitely gave him more flexibility in how he displayed his merchandise. Plus, even though the walls didn't go all the way up to the ceiling of exposed pipes, it did make it feel more like a real store and less like a yard sale.

"Somebody overslept," Charlie said as she stepped into the shop.  "Don't think I missed that little Barry Allen act of yours."

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to greet his best friend.  Who was holding not one but two cups of coffee.

"Yes, one of these is yours."  She handed it to him. "Milk, one sugar, just the way you like it."

"You are the best friend anyone ever had, Ms. Smoak."

"That's Arrow, dude," she said with a laugh, "but still a compliment, so, not complaining."

Dean peeled back the lid and took a swig of his coffee.  Oh yeah, just right. "Hey, if they're gonna keep doing all those crossovers, they've gotta expect it to all start running together."

Charlie gave a little nod and shrug to that.  "As long as it all adds up to more Caity Lotz, I'm good."

"Can't argue that."  Dean grinned at her. "I'm pretty behind, but I heard they brought Constantine back.  The two of them together? Now that's a dream come true. A really  _ nice _ dream."

Charlie shook her head again.  "Spare me, Winchester. I swear, I think you just like the swishy coats."

It was Dean's turn to shrug.  She might have a point, but he didn't have to admit to it.

"So why so late today?  That's not like you." Charlie took a sip of her own coffee and leaned up against the counter.  "You out partying? Without me?"

"Babysat the niece and nephew last night so Sam and Eileen could go out for their anniversary," he said.  He smiled, thinking about them. They were just at the point where they could flip themselves over on their activity blanket, which they thought was the best thing in the whole world.  He pulled out his phone to show her some pictures he'd snapped.

"Oh, they're getting so big!" Charlie said, taking the phone from him.  She swiped through a couple. "Wow, they're going to be sitting up soon!  And crawling."

"And then watch out, everyone," Dean agreed.  "Uh, don't swipe too far, there."

Charlie rolled her eyes and handed back the phone.  "You've got an unread text, bee-tee-dubs."

Dean thumbed it open and read it.  "Oh, good. The pre-ordered stuff is prepaid.  Makes life easier all around. Plus, they'll definitely show to pick it up."

"Candy or candles?"

"Candy.  Some bridal shower or something."

Just then, a loud guitar chord reverberated through the whole building, and Dean swore it actually rattled the jars on the wall.  It cut out just as abruptly.

He and Charlie stuck their heads out of the booth and looked over to the new guy's booth with all the stereo equipment.  The new guy, Cas-whatever, was squatting down next to one of the setups and talking to a kid who couldn't be more than seven.

"But AC/DC rules!" the kid said, clearly not happy.

"I agree," Cas replied calmly, "however, not everyone came here to listen to them today, so you can't just blare it like that."

"Ben?" a woman’s voice called out.

"Is that your name?" Cas asked. He looked around, apparently searching for the voice.  "Is that your mother calling you?"

A woman with shoulder-length brunette hair came running down the aisle.  Cas stood as she approached.

"I'm so sorry," she said to Cas, then looked down at the boy.  "You are in big trouble, mister. What did I tell you to do?"

"Stay put?"

"Stay put," she agreed.  "Running three aisles over and blaring rock and roll is the opposite of staying put.  Come on, we're going home."

"But Mom!"

She took him by the hand, apologized to Cas again, and led the boy back toward the stairway that went out to the parking lot.

Cas looked over at Dean and Charlie and waved weakly, his cheeks pink.

Dean shook his head and leaned back into his shop. 

"Something you want to tell me, Winchester?" Charlie asked before taking another sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim of the cup.

"What?  No!" Dean shook his head.  Admitting he'd been checking the dude's ass out earlier was definitely not on his agenda right now.

"Uh huh."  Charlie looked over her shoulder in the direction of Cas's booth.  "So you're still pissed off that he got that spot?"

"I'm pissed that there's people still stuck outside who've been waiting for a slot for years, and someone else can just waltz in and get prime indoors real estate.  That's not his fault, though. That’s management Cluttering up the loading dock with crap, well, that was."

"Was what?"

"His fault."  Dean shrugged.  "He did help me bring my crap in, which was decent.  But even when random little kids aren't cranking that shit, it does kinda ruin the ambiance."

"It's a converted mill, Dean.  We don't have ambiance. Might have asbestos, but not ambiance."

Dean snorted.  "Don't you have a coffee shop to run?"

"Kevin's getting the hang of it," Charlie said, "but yeah, probably should start getting ready for the after-church rush."

As if to confirm that time had indeed been passing, the bells from the church downtown started ringing out the hour, followed by some hymn.  He waves Charlie off and goes over to fuss with the teas next to the honey, shifting the citrusy blends to the front. They weren't necessarily the first to sell, but they had the brightest boxes and complemented the honey nicely.

Mabel, one of his best regulars, had brought friends this morning, so Dean was kept busy explaining the properties of everything from chamomile to licorice.  He really, really didn't need to know why Mabel's friend Andrea needed licorice tea, but he heard about it in painful detail. Again. As he would next Sunday, too.

Mabel even gave the "local honey" pitch for him, and she and her friends wiped out nearly half the jars he'd brought today.  Mabel, herself, had grabbed her usual small jar of raw honey with the comb preserved in it. It was bigger than the tiny ones they used for samplers and party favors but still quite small, no wonder she needed to repurchase every other week if she was putting it in her tea every day.

"You know," he said, "it'd be a better deal for you to buy the bigger jar."

"I know how to add, boy," she said with a sniff as she set it firmly on the counter with several boxes of tea.  She pointed a finger at him. "Maybe I just like the little jars."

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender and moved to step behind the register and start ringing her up.

Once they'd all paid, Dean took a breath and stepped back into the store.  Those ladies could do some damage! He wasn't knocking it; he'd more than made back the rental on the space thanks to Mabel and her crew.  He repositioned the honey jars and tea boxes so that they looked less decimated for the next wave of customers. He stepped back to appraise his handiwork, deciding with a nod that it would do just as someone walked in.

"Hello?  Oh, there you are."  The woman had dark blond hair and she looked like she was dressed for New York City rather than Lawrence, Kansas.  "Mr. Winchester, I presume?"

With that accent, maybe London rather than New York.

"Guilty as charged," he said with his best customer service smile.  "What can I help you find?"

"Actually, I've already ordered," she said, pulling a slip of paper from her purse.  "Bela Talbot. I ordered the party favors?"

"Right!"  He smiled wider and went behind the counter to retrieve the box.  The little jars inside rattled slightly as he stood to set it on the counter.  "All paid up. Do you need a hand carrying it out to your car?"

"I believe I can manage," she said. Then she looked Dean up and down with a smirk on her face.  "Though if you're volunteering to deliver them to the party as part of the entertainment…"

"That's not… uh… I mean…"  He replayed the last few seconds and realized that when he'd bent to get the box, he'd probably given her pretty much the same show that guy Cas had given him earlier.  Oops.

"Don't sprain anything, Winchester." She chuckled.  "We've already got a 'fireman' coming."

She shifted the strap of her purse across her shoulder and picked up the box and winked at him.  She turned to leave, and Dean wondered exactly how she planned to make it down those stairs a) carrying that box, and b) wearing those heels.  Oh well. Once she got out of the store it wasn't his problem.

**_"SHOOT TO THRILL!  PLAY TO KILL! I GOT MY GUN AT THE READY…"_ **

The blaring music cut out just as the box Bela was carrying hit the floor with a sickening crunch.

"Shit," Dean and Bela said in unison.

Dean darted around the counter.  "You okay?"

"That depends entirely upon the damage," she replied darkly.

Dean picked up the box and moved it to the counter, holding his breath as he opened it.

Well, it could've been worse.

The top tier of little jars was fine, intact right down to the decorative bows.  They might have been jostled, but the corrugated cardboard separating them from each other and the jars below had absorbed enough of the shock that they were none the worse for it.  He carefully removed them and set them aside. The second tier was similarly fine. It was when he set them aside as well and removed the cardboard divider to see the bottom layer.

That was where the damage had been.  Not every jar had broken, but several had spiderwebs of cracks in their bases.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered. 

"Shit, I can't use those!" Bela said. 

"No, definitely not."  Dean looked over his shoulder at the shelf full of empty decorative jars.  They didn’t sell often, but he was glad he kept a selection on hand anyway.  They didn't quite match, but he did have a handful that were similarly sized.  “I have an idea. Give me a sec.”

"There's no time," she said, "I'm on my way to go set up the shower  _ now!" _

"Hang on," he said as he sorted the last of the favors into "damaged" and "undamaged."  There were seven that needed replacing. "How many tables do you have for this thing?"

"What?"

He grabbed the six little jars that were the closest match and found one other that had an amber tint to it.  It was a bit larger, too.

"How many tables?" he asked, moving to grab one of the larger bags of Eileen's lavender candies from the pegboard.

"Five or six," Bela said, her voice evening out.  "The headcount is thirty-four, so… right, we needed six centerpieces."

"Perfect."  Dean grabbed a pair of gloves from behind the counter and started filling the new jars with candies.

"How is that perfect?" she demanded.  "I appreciate the attempt, but those don't  _ match." _

"They're  _ special," _ he countered.  "You usually do prizes at these things, right?  So, each table gets one of these and the person who sits at that seat wins… something.  The centerpiece, maybe?"

"And that one?" she pointed to the larger amber jar.

"That's for the bride," he said, "unless you have any better ideas."

"I…" She closed her mouth and shook her head.

Once the jars were filled, Dean quickly transferred the ribbons from the broken jars over, vowing to never again tease Eileen about the time she put into them.  His were nowhere near as neat, but they'd do. He re-packed them all into the box and folded the flaps shut.

"You go pull your car up," he said, "I'll bring them downstairs for you."

"Thank you," she said and hurried out of the store, heels clacking on the wooden floor.

"Hey, Ellen!" Dean called out as he passed a booth filled with antique bottles.  "Anybody comes in the next few minutes, I'll be right back."

She waved and nodded without breaking eye contact with the customer she was talking to.

Dean was careful as he made his way down the stairs.  It was definitely easier to haul stuff up them rather than down.  Once he'd placed the box safely in Bela's car ( on the floor in the back, wedged securely between the front and back seats) and said goodbye, he stalked back upstairs and to his shop.

A quick glance inside showed no one had come in those few minutes.  Good. He kept going.

Cas was explaining the finer points of some piece of equipment or other to a customer.  Apparently, the customer could hear Dean stomping toward them because he muttered something and quickly walked away to another booth.

"So, what was it this time?" Dean asked.  "Another kid?"

"I'm sorry, I…"

"Do you even know what just happened?  I just lost inventory and I almost lost a customer!"  Dean pointed at Cas, then swept his arm to encompass the whole floor.  "That could've happened to anyone here. In case you haven't noticed, lots of vendors have breakable stuff.  But lucky me, I'm right next door."

"Dean…"

"So you better kid-proof or idiot-proof this crap so shit like that doesn't keep happening!" 

Cas clenched his fists by his side and set his jaw, glaring at Dean through narrowed blue eyes.

"Capische?"

"Yes, I capische."  He didn't move. "Are you done?"

"Well… yeah," Dean replied.  Realizing he really did have nothing left to say, he spun on his heel and stormed back into his shop to dispose of the damaged jars and wasted candies.  He hesitated for a second over throwing out the candies in the broken jars. They hadn't shattered, after all. But no, there could be tiny fragments of glass in with the candies now.  So all of it went in the trash. 

The bag he'd cannibalized to fill the replacement jars wasn't a total loss, at least.  Dean pulled out a smaller plastic bag from under the counter and transferred most of what was left into it, sealed and labeled it, and returned it to the peg board.  The remaining handful of candies went into a saucer with a "free sample" sign hastily scrawled on a piece of cardboard and propped up beside them.

Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was past noon.  Still half the day to go. He popped one of the candies in his mouth.  Lavender was supposed to be calming, after all. He kind of thought he’d need more than that today, though.   

 


	2. Chapter 2

The following week, Dean made sure to give himself plenty of lead time.  If he wasn't rushing around like last week, this day would have to get off to a better start, right?

At first, it seemed so.  He had no problem unloading this week's products at the dock.  All the new stuff he had was a case of herbs that had finally finished drying and been bagged up.  No special orders, either. Really, this should be a totally stress-free week.

He even had time to stop for coffee and a blueberry muffin before the doors opened to customers.

"I heard you reamed out the new guy," Charlie said as she handed him his breakfast, then slid into the booth across from him.  "And not the way I was expecting."

"Dude, no."  Dean shook his head.  "You must've heard that blast of noise last week, right?"

"You love AC/DC," she pointed out.

"Not at full volume when a customer just grabbed a box of breakable crap that she got startled into dropping."  Dean scowled into his coffee.

Charlie winced.

"I mean, I salvaged the situation and didn't lose too much inventory, but… it shouldn't have happened at all."

"No, I agree."  Charlie sighed. "But he's not a bad guy, Dean.  He's trying."

Dean raised an eyebrow at her.

"Hey, everybody comes in here.  You know that." She smiled proudly.  "Coffee brings 'em all in."

"True, that."  Dean took a swig of his, followed by a bite of his muffin.  He moaned around the crumbly goodness.

"You need me to leave you alone with that?" she asked with a laugh.

"Hardy har har."  Dean took another swallow of coffee.  "Hey, I'll play nice with anyone, you know that.  Even Ed and Harry."

"You don't talk to Ed and Harry," Charlie pointed out.  "They're so far down the other end of the hall you don't have to."

"But we don't argue anymore," Dean said.  "No matter how wrong they are about the way they store their supposedly rare coins."

Charlie rolled her eyes.

"I'm not gonna bother stereo dude unless he causes any more trouble."  He raised a hand. "Or fails to prevent it happening."

"I'm holding you to that," Charlie said.  "Feuding vendors isn't good for business for anyone.  Unless you're gonna turn it into a full-on brawl and sell tickets.  I'll fire up the popcorn machine, in that case."

Dean snorted and headed back to his shop.

 

Dean had every intention of keeping his promise to Charlie.  Really, he did. In fact, he wasn't the one who started it this time.

It had been a pretty typical morning so far.  Mabel had brought some other friends today, one of whom had grandkids (or maybe even great-grandkids?) in tow.  They were cute, anyway, one three years old and the other five. Dean had given them their choice of honey straws for being adorable.  One went for strawberry and the other for blueberry. Mostly, Dean thought, they just tasted like honey, and kids loved chomping on the beeswax straws.

"Just make sure to get them back to their parents by the time the sugar kicks in," he said with a wink as he set the display back up on the counter.

"Oh, believe me, I will," said their "Gamma."

Once they'd gone, Dean fussed with the shelves a bit.  The teas weren't as depleted as last week, but he rearranged them anyway, bringing everything to the front edge of the shelf.  Candles, on the other hand, had taken some damage. One of Mabel's other friends had wanted a dozen of the two-tone hand-dipped candles, and she'd gone through every set until she'd been satisfied with the color blend.  It didn't take too much doing to re-organize them, though, draping each pair of candles over their pegs by their shared wicks.

This time it was Cas who stormed in waving something around in his fist and demanding at the top of his lungs, "Did this come from here?  Did it?"

Dean tried to track the thing with his eyes as Cas waved it at him, but he just got dizzy so he gave up trying.  "Dude, I have no idea. What is it?"

"This!"  Cas shoved a half-empty honey straw in his face, then dropped his eyes to the display by the register.  There was a whole assortment of honey straws in various flavors. "It is! I knew it! Do you have any idea what freakin' honey does to electronics?"

Dean raised his hands.  "Hey, I don't control what my customers do after they leave."

"Well, this time, _I'm_ the one who lost inventory," Cas snapped, "and I'll bet a Behringer Xenyx mixer runs a bit more than any of your crap, even wholesale."

"Look, I'm sorry that happened.  Seriously. But how is this my fault?  I warned you that you needed to kid-proof your crap over there!  Kids get curious, and yeah, sometimes they break stuff!"

"If they broke a knob off something, that I could fix," Cas snapped. His eyes flashed even more brilliantly blue than usual. "I don't even know if it's _possible_ to get honey out of all the places this kid dribbled it in.  Which they couldn't have done if _you_ weren't selling chewable… whatever the hell these are.  Who even eats this stuff?"

"Dude, if it wasn't my honey, it'd be something else."  Dean threw up his hands. "Kids get messy and sticky and get crap everywhere.  It's what they do! They're kids!"

Cas threw the half-empty honey straw down on the counter and stormed back out of the shop.  For a second, Dean thought maybe he was just going to go cool off, because seriously, how was this his fault?

 

**_"SEE MY WHITE LIGHT FLASHING AS I SPLIT THE NIGHT! CAUSE IF GOOD'S ON THE LEFT, THEN I'M STICKIN' TO THE RIGHT!"_ **

_Seriously?_  Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten.  Dude was going to piss off everyone in the building with that shit.  Dean didn't need to do anything. Cas would get his lease voided and that would be the end of it.  No more stereo booth. No more random bursts of noise. And absolutely no reason for Dean to be clenching his fists so tightly that his fingernails were digging into his palms.

No reason at all.

The next week started with Ellen pulling Dean aside.

"What's up?" he asked.  "Got some stuff that needs moving?"

"I can handle my inventory just fine, thanks," Ellen said, narrowing her eyes at him.  "The question is whether you and the new stereo guy can stow your crap. I don't know what's going on with you two, but it's starting to cost the rest of us sales.  I'm not the only one who had a dip last week after your little spat. People who might've spent the afternoon browsing left and didn't come back. That affects all of us, boy!"

"After… what?"  Dean shook his head.  "I had nothing to do with that!"

"Really?  Because I heard both of you yelling just before he decided to turn this place into a rock concert."  Ellen put her hands on her hips. "So, I don't care who's right and who's wrong. You both need to stow your crap and act like adults, at least from nine to four.  Once a week. Do you think you can manage that?"

Dean looked up at the pipes snaking across the ceiling as if he was going to find an answer written up there.

"Do you?" she pressed, poking him in the shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, "at least, _I_ can.  Can't speak for him."

"You better.  And don't you worry," she said, "I'll get the same promise out of him."

Dean had no doubt she would.  He ducked into the coffee shop.  He was going to need at least two cups today, he figured.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped through the door was the soft music Charlie had playing.  Something with tinkling bells, some kind of flute, and ocean noises.

"Morning," Charlie said when she saw him.  "Usual?"

"Times two," Dean replied.  "Why's it sound like a new age shop in here?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.  "Why do you think? So when you and your crush get into it today, customers don't totally leave.  They can come in here and mellow out until you two get over yourselves."

"He's not my… what?"  Dean cut his eyes over to the door to see if anyone else had heard that, then focused back on Charlie.

"Uh huh," Charlie said as she capped two coffee cups and handed them over.  "Whatever you say, Winchester. Adding these to your tab?"

"Yeah," he said, "I'll get you this afternoon."

She waved him off.  All the vendors ran tabs with her, since they started the day with coffee but didn't start making money till later.  Some ran their tab for as long as a month, but Dean generally kept up week to week. Charlie needed to be able to buy her supplies to keep feeding them all, after all.  Last week he'd been so busy being annoyed with Cas, though, he'd pretty much just closed up the shop and hit the road as soon as four o'clock hit, completely forgetting to pay her.  He'd throw in a little extra today. She only charged the vendors half-price, which was nice of her, but today he'd pay full. It was the least he could do.

Actually, there was something else he could do, he realized.  He bypassed his shop and went over to where Cas was setting up for today.  He'd invested in some tables, Dean saw, and now his space wasn't so much of an open plan.  Kids could climb under the tables, and probably would, but it was a start. He'd thrown rock band-themed tablecloths of some kind over them.  Actually, they kind of looked like they were made from band t-shirts, which was a pretty cool idea. Dean wondered if maybe kids who climbed under would be content to play hide-and-seek and stay away from the equipment.  Or maybe Cas had stashed boxes under there, which would make for a better barrier. Point was, he was finally doing something about keeping kids away from his equipment, which was a plus in Dean's book.

Cas had his back turned, fiddling with something that looked like it belonged in a nightclub.  Did people even still use turntables, never mind two at a time? He was wearing what had to be the same jeans he'd worn every week.  Well, unless he deliberately made sure to have the exact same tear on the back of the right knee of every pair he owned, and why did Dean even remember that?  He shook his head at himself.

"G'morning," Dean said.

Cas looked over his shoulder cautiously.  His eyes were narrowed, but not so much Dean couldn't see they were bloodshot.  Heavy circles beneath them suggested the guy never slept.

"I come in peace," Dean said holding up the two cups of coffee and extending one in his direction.  "Hope milk and a little sugar works for you."

Cas turned the rest of the way and stepped over to the table where Dean was.  He looked at the coffee as if he thought it might have strychnine in it rather than milk and sugar.  Slowly, he stretched out a hand and accepted the cup. "Yeah, that's fine. Thank you."

Dean acknowledged that with a nod and peeled back the tab on the lid of his cup to take a sip.  Slowly, Cas did the same. He almost looked surprised not to find himself instantly choking to death.  Dean rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, have a good day," Dean said.  As an afterthought he raised his paper cup as if making a toast.  "To a better week for all of us."

"I'll drink to that," Cas replied with an odd little half-smile, raising his cup also and taking another sip, this one less tentative.

Dean turned and went into his shop.  This was definitely going to be a better day.

It was not a better day.  It was bright and sunny out, which was probably great for the folks outside, but not too many folks seemed all that interested in hanging out in an old mill, even to find great deals, when they could be outdoors on a day like this.

Dean had dusted.  He'd polished. He'd rearranged.  The incense burners were alphabetized by design, which meant there were an awful lot of dragons all staring off one particular shelf.  That section had all looked better before, but Dean was driving himself up a wall. Sam had stopped answering his texts two hours ago, and Charlie had kicked him out of the snack bar after his third visit.

He stepped back out of the shop and leaned up against the wall, hoping maybe, just maybe he could catch some potential customer's eye.  The one thing that caught his eye, though, was what was going on over at the stereo booth.

Some pretty blonde was over there checking out a speaker set, but that wasn't the interesting part.  No, it was the look on Cas' face. His eyes were twinkling, he was smiling like he'd just won the lottery, and then he winked at the blonde before turning to grab his receipt book.

Well, that was new.  Not that Dean had really paid attention to how Cas was with his customers when their spawn weren't wreaking havoc, come to think of it.  Maybe that's how he always was. No reason Dean should care anyway.

"'Scuse me," said a gruff voice on Dean's blind side.

He turned quickly and plastered on his best charm for the stocky, bearded fellow.  "No excuse needed. Can I help you?"

"I sure hope so."  The guy was wearing a vaguely nautical-looking hat, and he scratched his head, knocking it askew before setting it right.  "I hear you're the one to see for spices?"

"That's right."  Dean led him inside.  "Looking for anything in particular?"

"Saffron, actually," he said with an accent that sounded like the deep South.  "Could use a bit of turmeric and cayenne, too."

"Most are over on the peg board."  Dean gestured towards it. "I keep the saffron behind the counter, though."

"Makes sense," the guy said as he headed over to the peg board.  He grabbed the turmeric and cayenne, then snagged a couple of others, too.

Dean went behind the counter and plucked a tiny vial holding a couple of saffron threads from its spot, setting it down on next to the register as the fellow came over to set his purchases down.  He'd added even more herbs, all of them primarily culinary in use.

"Quite the variety," Dean observed as he wrote up the sale.  "This for a special meal or are you opening a restaurant?"

"Nah, not me."  The guy chuckled.  "It's for my granddaughter's new place."

Dean felt his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.  "You have a granddaughter old enough to be cooking?"

"Careful, now, cher," the man said with a laugh.  "Keep up with that flattery and I'll think you're after more than a sale."

Dean schooled his expression from shock to what he hoped was more or less his usual charm.  He gave the guy his total, took his money, and sent him on his way, still wondering exactly how the hell this guy could be that old.

When he ventured back to the doorway, Dean saw that Cas had yet another customer, this one a fellow vendor.  Garth looked seriously flustered. In fact, Dean didn't think he'd ever seen him that flushed. Meanwhile, Cas was leaning _waaaaay_ into the guy's personal space explaining some kind of sound mixer to him, wearing a sassy smirk.

Hell, two could play at that game.

"Ma'am, you are looking lovely today," he said to the next person who walked into hearing distance.  "You look like just the sort of discerning woman who prefers local teas."

"Well, I hadn't given it much thought," she said, eyes widening a bit.  "Is that something you're selling?"

Dean grinned as he led her into the shop, mentally adding a tally to his side of an imaginary scoreboard.

As the day went on, the tally went back and forth a few times.  Cas sold some stereo wire, Dean sold some candles. Cas sold some little speaker-thing for people to use with their phones, Dean sold a jar of honey and a bag of candy.  Then things started to wind down. Cas was rearranging a shelf that had him reaching so that his shirt rode up, and if Dean had a spare minute to notice and appreciate, well, there was hardly anyone around to see.

Hardly anyone, but not no one.  A small cluster of girls, probably in their mid teens, dressed in mostly black headed his way.

"Good morning, ladies," he said as they approached, pushing himself off the door jamb and grinning.  "Can I help you find anything?"

Two of them blushed.  A third went over to the incense burners and just fiddled with them, picking up one, looking at it, and setting it back down before moving on to the next.

"We're, um, looking for some _stuffforthefullmoon,"_ one of them blurted.

"Lucky for you, I think we've got just what you need," he said with a wink.

He showed them the hand-dipped candles, some candle holders, went over some of the different incenses and their uses.  He wasn't sure he bought into the idea that it actually mattered whether you burned sandalwood or lavender, but they both smelled good, and his New Age/Goth/Wiccan customers appreciated that he knew a bit about this stuff. It might only be the basics, but it was the newbies who were likely to ask anyway.

By the time he sent them on their way with a supply of candles, incense, herbs, and one of Eileen's more impressive carved-dragon incense burners, they were all giggling at each other as they handed over their money.  Dean walked out of the shop after them, a little nervous that one or more of them might be planning to (or might have already) snagged some extra items from the shelves outside. Not that it would make sense to steal something after dropping the kind of cash they'd just spent, but sometimes kids did crap like that for dares and whatnot.  A quick look, though, told him all was accounted for.

As they passed the stereo booth, they looked back at him. Still a bit suspicious, Dean kept his smile in place and winked at them, setting them off in another wave of giggles.

Dean glanced over at the stereo booth to find Cas glaring at him.  What the hell? Seriously, you'd think the dude was planning to shoot lasers out of his eyes.  Dean raised his hands in mock surrender and headed back into the shop. He didn't need Cas scaring the next batch of customers out of this section of the flea market looking like that, whatever his problem was.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The following week was much better, right from the start. The parking lot was filling up already and it was still a couple of minutes before nine.  The outdoor tables were crawling with early birds to the point they looked like the inside of some of Dean’s hives. He hadn’t had to bring in much in the way of replacement stock today, so he had plenty of time to get a coffee before the doors officially opened.

"G'morning, Charlie."  Dean stepped up to the counter and peered at the pastries.  He really shouldn't, but some of those donuts just looked way too tempting.  He waved a hand at the speaker overhead; today, it was violin music. "Still running a new age spa in here?"

"Preventive measures, Winchester," she said with a smirk.  "Though you two did seem to keep it a bit saner last week. Things settling down?"

Just then, Cas walked in.  He stiffened and almost turned around to leave.  Dean shrugged and turned so that he was facing Charlie and wasn't looking at Cas.

"You could say that," Dean replied. "I'll take a jelly donut with my coffee today."

Charlie bagged up the donut and handed over the coffee.  She looked at Dean and then just behind him. Considering the eyeroll she gave, Dean figured Cas was still there.

"Well," she said, "it's nice to see that you're being grown-ups finally."

"Sarcasm's not a great look on you," Dean retorted with a smirk.  He headed out the little-used side door rather than double back past Cas, and if Charlie thought that was immature too, oh well.  If they didn't talk to each other, they couldn't fight, right?

Right.

Dean wolfed down the donut on his way back to the shop.  He really shouldn't have gone for something covered in powdered sugar.  Sure, it was good, but now he was getting covered in the crap, and he didn't really want to get it all over the shop.  Once he got there, he stuck his coffee behind the counter and made a run for the restroom to wash up.

Rufus caught a look at him as Dean passed his table and started laughing.  "What's up, Dean? Didn't think you were white enough?"

"Hardy-har-har." Dean rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth which, to go by the look on Rufus' face, had only made things worse.  "I defy you to resist Charlie's donuts this morning."

"Why d'you think I don't go in there?" Rufus replied with a snort.  "If I send someone else for my coffee, that's all I get: coffee."

That was hard to argue, and Dean didn't really have time to be dicking around, so he just shrugged and used his back to open the bathroom door so he wouldn't get that covered in powder, too.

By the time Dean was finished, Rufus was busy with a customer already.  Apparently, someone thought it was worth getting up early on a Sunday morning to haggle over some third-rate Mets player's rookie card.  Must be worth something to someone or Rufus wouldn't be so intense over it, Dean supposed.

When he got back to his shop, Dean saw that Cas also had a customer already, some older dude that Dean wouldn't have thought cared about that kind of equipment.  But Cas had him enthralled over some weird headphones that made him look like an alien. Whatever.

Nobody was hanging around Dean's shop, which at least gave him a chance to sip his coffee and fuss with the shelving.  He un-alphabetized the incense burners, arranging them a bit more randomly and interestingly. Next to them, the rack of incense was in need of some restocking.  How had he not noticed that last week? He'd have to make some more this week.

Once he was satisfied the place looked as good as it was going to, Dean went to hang out by the door, sipping his coffee and greeting passers-by.  None of them did more than return the greeting. Clearly, he needed more than just caffeine and sugar to reach full charge charm today.

After a bit, Mabel showed up with new friends.  This bunch was more varied than the last, and by the time all was said and done, they’d put a dent in his honey supply, tea (of course), candles, and even some of the knick-knacks.  And just by being a crowd in his shop, they attracted more customers.

Yeah, it was gonna be a great day.

It hadn’t been a great day.  It had been an _awesome_ day.  Dean had made almost double his average for the day.  He’d been so busy, in fact, he’d barely had time to step out of the shop at all, to the point he kind of missed last week’s game of one-upmanship with Cas.

There had been that one lull, though, when Dean had poked his head out to see if Cas was getting as much business as he was.  Maybe yes, maybe no, but it was apparently a lull for him, too, as Cas was draped across a piece of equipment fixing… something.  Dean wasn’t sure what Cas was fixing, but he _was_ sure that the things that position and those tattered jeans did to Cas’ ass were probably illegal in the state of Kansas, and for good reason.  He’d had to duck back behind the counter for the next fifteen minutes or so before he’d been willing to have any customers (potential or otherwise) see him other than from the waist up.

Dean whistled as he closed up the shop for the week and took an inventory of what he’d need to bring next Sunday.  By the time he headed out to the parking lot, most of the other vendors had already left. He should probably do a better job keeping up the inventory list as he rung up sales on days like this, because now his stomach was grumbling and he still had a twenty-minute drive to get home.  He was tempted to stop off somewhere to grab a bite, but Sam was cooking some big dinner tonight.

The parking lot was nearly empty now.  The outdoor tables were all packed and gone.  There was some beat-up little boxy green import parked right next to the Impala, though.  Dean didn’t recognize it, but then, he didn’t exactly know every vendor’s vehicle. Most of them didn’t park that far out like he did, after all.  He wondered who’d been running so late that had been the only spot left.

As he got closer, he found himself getting a little nervous.  That little green piece of shit was really parked pretty close to his baby.  He knew the lot had been pretty full earlier, but was it really necessary to squeeze in that tight?  He quickened his steps.

Sure as shit, when he got close enough, he could finally see where it had dinged his passenger side door.  That would be bad enough, but at least he could pop the dent tomorrow before he opened the main shop. No, there was actually some of that putrid green paint scraped onto his.  He squatted down to look at the damage. It didn’t look like his paint was scratched through, but he was willing to bet he’d damage it getting that green crap off. That meant stripping and repainting the door, because he wasn’t having his baby look patched up, and that might even mean redoing the whole damn car.

His face flamed and his blood pounded in his ears.  Dean gritted his teeth as he slowly stood up and finally noticed a note shoved under the windshield wiper.  He scowled as he grabbed it and read over the message. At least whoever the hell it was had the decency to own up to their shit, but… then he saw who’d signed it.

“This is your car?”

Dean whipped around, crumpling the note in his fist.  Cas was standing there, running his fingers through his perpetually-messy hair.  He looked apologetic, but, seriously? It had to be him?

“You did this?” Dean growled.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said.  “I was running late, and you saw how quickly the lot filled up…”

“And you think this makes up for it?”  Dean opened his fist to show the crumpled note before squashing it again to point first at Cas and then at the damaged door.  “Do you even know how much work it’s probably gonna take to fix this?”

“I’ve offered to pay…”

“Dude, I can get the paint from Bobby cheap enough.  Sure, you can buy that. But time? This is gonna take a chunk out of my week when I need to be replenishing stock.”

“Dean…”

“No, shut up, Cas.  You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since you got here.  Who the hell sells stereo equipment at a flea market anyway? Or does your stock just fall off a truck somewhere?”

“Now listen here!”  Cas glowered at him.  “I’m a business owner just like you.  My store may be new, but it’s doing okay.  Better since I added the booth here. So, yeah, I know what your time is worth.  What I don’t know is what you want me to say or do, because I can’t exactly go back to this morning and crawl out my damn window, which was about the only way I was getting out of my car without dinging something!”

“Just…”  Dean seethed.  “Just stay the hell away from me and stay the hell away from my baby.”

“Your…  you call your car your baby?”

“Get out of my way before I move you,” Dean growled, then shouldered past him to get out of the narrow space between the two cars and walk around to the driver’s side.  “And stay the hell out of my way.”

He climbed into the Impala, turned the engine over, and backed out, careful not to pick up any more damage along the way.  As he drove out of the lot, he could see Cas in the rearview mirror, still standing there, watching him leave. Dean gritted his teeth and headed for home.

Dean tried not to let the fallout from last week’s fiasco ruin his expectations for today.  Of course, it looked like the sky was going to open up any minute, which wasn’t improving his mood any.  At least his baby was back to mint. He’d almost been tempted to borrow Sam’s stupid Honda, but he knew Sam would’ve just shot him one of _those_ looks about it.

To be fair, Cas had made good on his offer to pay for the supplies Dean needed, stopping by the main store on Monday to give it to him in cash.  (That had been weird, seeing him anywhere other than the flea market, never mind in Dean’s actual store. Not necessarily bad weird, either.) And the weather had been good enough this week that he’d been able to do the work without needing to borrow space at Bobby’s to be indoors.  Still, he was tempted to throw a moving blanket over the car once he was parked today.

Shaking off that line of thought, he pulled up to the dock, pleased to see he’d gotten there early enough to miss the line, considering how much stock he’d had to bring.  He hopped out of the car and opened the trunk. When he went to haul the first box onto the dock, though, he saw that while he might have been early, he definitely hadn’t been first.

“Son of a bitch!”

There were tons of boxes again.  Not all of them looked like Cas’, but the ones closest to the edge obviously were.  With a roll of his eyes, Dean pulled himself up and moved them off to one side. There was a decent spot right next to a piece of furniture that he guessed belonged to one of the antique vendors.  Maybe something else had been there before, but there was room enough for one stack of whatever-the-hell stereo crap.

When he got back to his own stuff and hauled it in, he saw there was one more box he hadn’t noticed, off at the opposite side of the dock from where he’d just moved everything else.  For about two seconds he considered moving it closer to the other stuff, but then Rufus pulled up and honked at him, so Dean just jumped back down and closed the trunk. He gave Rufus a wave and pulled around back to park.

Once he got inside, he settled quickly into his usual set-up routine.  He got all the herb packets hung and tea boxes arranged, replenished the honey shelf, and draped hand-dipped candles over their rack.  He swung by the snack bar and got himself a cup of coffee, but he took a pass on the donuts this time, opting for a pistachio muffin instead.  It probably wasn’t any healthier, but at least it was less messy.

The morning started off reasonably busy.  Nothing like last week, but Dean wasn’t expecting it to be.  Days like that didn’t happen often.

Some friend of Bela’s came in to ask about getting favors made up for an event, and Dean spent a good half hour going over the various options with her.  She didn’t make up her mind, but she did take the order form with a promise to call the main store during the week with her order.

Mabel came by herself this time, picking up her usual little honey jar and a box of raspberry tea to go with it.  Benny, the Louisiana-sounding dude, came back for more cooking spices. And a respectably steady stream of unfamiliar faces wandered in and out up until about eleven o’clock.  Then they started to thin out.

One guy came in with his hair plastered to his head, confirming what Dean had suspected:  the rain had started and only the die-hards would be straggling in for the rest of the day.  This particular guy wouldn’t have continued across the lot once the rain started, he said, if his mother wasn’t expecting him to come back with an economy-sized jar of honey.  Dean rang up the sale with the thought it might actually be the last one of the day if it was that bad out.

Ten minutes after the guy left, he had proof it really was that bad, because Dean could actually hear the rain drumming down on the roof.  Drumming wasn’t even the word. It sounded like a herd of elephants was tap-dancing up there. Dean groaned, thinking of the damage he was probably going to find in the gardens once he got back home.

“What?!” he heard Cas yell.  “No, that’s not…”

Huh.  Dean poked his head out to see what Cas’ problem was, but he wasn’t at his booth.  That was… weird. Dean stepped out into the main aisle to have a better look, only to see that he was tearing ass over to the loading dock area.

Oh shit.

Dean ran to the loading dock to see if he was freaking out over what he thought he might be freaking out over.

He was.

The door to the dock was down.  Now. But obviously it hadn’t been closed before a good amount of rain had gotten in and, from the look of it, saturated the box Dean had seen all by itself there earlier.  The box that was now sitting in an actual puddle deep enough that there was no way it hadn’t gotten all the way inside. Cas was standing over it, running his fingers through his hair.

“Shit,” Dean muttered.

Cas whirled around at the sound.  His eyes narrowed and he stalked over to Dean.

“Did you do this?  Is this your idea of payback?  Because this is much worse than some goddamned ding on your car!”

Dean held up his hands.  “Look man, I didn’t touch it.”

“But you moved the rest of my stock, didn’t you!”  Cas jabbed a finger into Dean’s chest. “You moved all but one, so that I wouldn’t see it.  You couldn’t have known it would rain like this, but maybe you were hoping it’d get stolen. Or knocked off the edge.  Do you know what Bose speakers go for?”

Dean winced.  He actually did know.  He’d bought a set last year for the main store.  (What? He liked some music while he was working.)

“Dude, I just made room to be able to bring my stock in, that’s it.”  Dean took a breath and a step back, because he really didn’t want to know where this would go if Cas kept poking at him.  “Is it… it doesn’t have a power source, right? So nothing should be shorted out?”

“No, it shouldn’t be,” Cas agreed, but that didn’t seem to calm him at all.  “But it’s going to take at least a week to dry out enough to test it, and I had someone coming to pick this specific set up today.”

Dean winced.  “Can you, like, speed that up putting it in rice or something?”

“That’s cell phones,” Cas retorted with a sneer.  “I’m still not convinced you didn’t do this on purpose.  You’ve had it in for me from day one!”

“What?  That’s ridiculous!  You’re the one who’s been weird and inconsiderate since you got here!”

 _“I’ve_ been… let me tell you something, Winchester.”  Cas’ eyes hardened and he braced his fists on his hips.  “Figuring out the unwritten rules around here isn’t exactly easy.  But I’m pretty sure ‘don’t actively sabotage other vendors’ is in there somewhere!”

“For the last time, I didn’t actively sabotage you, and what’s with the air quotes?”  Dean shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that, man. This was an accident, plain and simple, so let’s figure out how to fix it before your customer gets here, assuming they’re even going to show up in this rain.”

Cas threw his hands in the air and stepped back into Dean’s personal space.  “Of course she’s going to show up! You don’t put down a deposit like—mmph!”

Dean wasn’t sure when he’d decided that the best way to shut Cas up was to mash their mouths together, but it seemed to be working.  He’d fisted his hands in Cas’ t-shirt and pulled him the last couple of inches closer before he’d even known what he was doing. And now… well, Cas had clearly been as surprised as Dean was, but he didn’t seem to mind considering the way he was kissing back and had gripped Dean’s face and shoved his tongue into Dean’s mouth.

This definitely beat the shit out of yelling at each other, but there was still the problem of Cas’ customer.  Dean pulled back and caught his breath, absently smoothing the front of Cas’ shirt before letting his hands fall back to his sides.  Cas retreated slightly as well.

“Do you have more of these back at your store?” Dean asked.

It took Cas a second to catch up, then he nodded.  “Yes, of course.”

Considering what that crap had to go for, even wholesale, Dean didn’t think there was any “of course” about it, but whatever.

“And you said the customer gave you a deposit, so you’ve got her number, right?”

Cas nodded again, this time warily.

“So how about you call her or shoot her a message.  Either tell her what happened or just suggest she not come out in the rain, and…”

“She said… never mind the details, but she was only going to be able to drive up here today,” Cas protested, clearly getting wound up again.

“Then deliver it tomorrow,” Dean suggested.

“I can’t… Dean, that would mean closing my store while I deliver it, either that or delivering it at the ass-crack of dawn!”

Dean held up a hand.  Yeah, he didn’t know how he’d manage if he was the only one working his store.  There was definitely something to be said for the safety net of a family business.  “My brother or my sister-in-law can cover our store for an hour or two tomorrow. Even if it wasn’t on purpose, this is partly my fault, so I can make the delivery.  Your customer will be impressed with the above-and-beyond service and your concern for her coming out in this weather.”

Cas nodded slowly.  “Yeah, I can… I can try that.”

“Meanwhile—” Dean walked over to the soaked box of speakers and picked it up out of its puddle, holding it well away from him as it dripped. “—where do you want this to start drying out?”

 


	4. Epilogue

The following Sunday started out sunny.  Dean thought that matched his mood pretty well.  One of the plus sides to how relatively slow last week had been was that he didn’t need to scramble to get back to the store and grab stuff to restock.  If there were going to be repeats of yesterday, though, he’d have to plan a little better.

As it was, he’d had to borrow a shirt from Cas and was stuck going commando in his damn jeans.  Yeah, definite need for better planning next time. (If there was a next time. He was pretty sure there was going to be a next time.)  At least the guy had a decent selection of band t-shirts. Made sense for his work. Dean chose the AC/DC shirt he’d seen Cas wear a couple of times.

They stopped off at Cas’ store and grabbed a turntable and a box of the mini-speakers for phones.  (Those were apparently his best-sellers at the booth.) Cas checked on the Bose speakers that were still parked next to a continuously running fan and dehumidifier.

“They’re probably okay,” he said.  “Kinda want to give it another day before I try plugging them in, though.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Dean agreed.

Once they got to the flea market, Dean convinced Cas to just park and skip the loading dock.  It’d be too much for one person to bring in safely, but with two of them, they might as well just each take a box.  (Dean did wonder how the hell Cas managed to cram all the stuff he’d seen on the dock into this little car, but he was a little preoccupied with other stuff to ask.)

He helped Cas set up the turntable and stow the box underneath the table, hidden (along with the boxes for the rest of the stuff on display) under the band tee tablecloth.  It was kind of a brilliant way to make use of the space, Dean had to admit.

They still had a bit of time, so even though Cas had cooked up a decent morning-after breakfast, they went to the snack bar for coffee.  Ellen was there ahead of them, chatting with Charlie. Both women stopped when the walked in and just stared.

Dean looked down at himself and over at Cas, then back at Ellen and Charlie.  They both looked fine and they weren’t like holding hands or anything. “What?”

“Where’d you get that t-shirt, Dean?” Charlie asked.  “’Cause I know for a fact you don’t have an AC/DC t-shirt.”

“Ummm…”  Dean flushed.

“You know what, never mind.”  Charlie handed him his coffee and was already started on Cas’.  “On the house today. Just go get set up.”

“Okay.”  Dean accepted his coffee and took a sip, stepping around Ellen to wait for Cas.  “Morning, Ellen.”

“Morning,” she said with a nod and an odd little smile.

She didn’t say anything else, and Dean couldn’t figure out why she was acting so weird.  But he shook it off as Cas joined him and they headed off to their booths. Dean let Cas go first, but then took a step back, thinking to ask Ellen and Charlie what their problem was.  Before he could say a word, though, he saw Ellen shaking her head as she slapped a bill into Charlie’s hand.

“When will you learn not to bet against the queen?” Charlie asked.

“Right about now,” Ellen replied.  “Really thought it was gonna take those boys another few weeks to get their heads out of their asses.”

Dean ducked back out onto the main floor to see Cas looking back at him, his eyes full of questions.  Dean opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut.

“Let’s get this day started,” he said, slinging an arm across Cas’ shoulders.  “I’m thinking this is gonna be our lucky day.”

“I thought that was yesterday,” Cas said with a wink.

“I guess that depends on whether our luck holds then,” Dean replied, winking back.  “I’m betting it will.”

  



End file.
